


Seventy and Falling

by cat_77



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Self-Rescuing Princess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23613931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: She had thought the migraine would be the worst part of her day.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	Seventy and Falling

“Go home, Powell.” 

The order was not completely unexpected, yet she protested it just the same. “I’m-” she started, but was immediately cut off.

“So help me, if you say that you’re fine...” Arroyo huffed. He wasn’t truly annoyed, that much she could tell. If anything, it was concern coloring his tone. This was proven when he added, “I already have to deal with Bright’s BS, please don’t pick up on his traits.”

Malcolm didn’t hear him, lost in thought as he looked over the latest crime scene. The body was clearly dumped from elsewhere, and he was trying to figure out if there were any tells as to just where that was, as if he could see with his eyes in seconds what took forensics hours or days to compile. He fired off another question to Edrisa who very enthusiastically responded and she let them go at it knowing they would eventually break it down into something understood by the masses.

“Dani...” Gil prompted, and she shook her head to clear it, instantly regretting the action. He stepped closer, voice low in understanding that she didn’t like to show weakness in front of others, and asked, “Full whopper, or just the beginning?”

She sighed, and silently cursed that he knew her tells so well. Then again, she kept wincing at the light and the squeak of the wheels of Edrisa’s cart and everything else, so maybe the tells weren’t quite so hidden. “Aura only,” she insisted. Off of his look, she amended that to admit, “But the pain is ramping up. I can finish this up if you need me.” Her vision was a little wavy at the edges and there was currently more of a feeling of pressure beneath her skull than anything else, all warning signs of what was to come. She could fight it off, for a while even, if necessary. She had done it before and they both knew she was more than willing to do so again.

As expected, he shook his head. “Go home, take your meds, pass out, and come back in to look at everything when your head’s not going to explode,” he ordered. It was his way of telling her that they still needed her, but they needed her at one hundred percent and not the seventy and falling that she currently resided at.

She took the out mainly so she wouldn’t be fully benched. She gave both Bright and Tarmel a heads up because they tended to notice things like a missing teammate. JT simply pointed to his own head and winced in sympathy. Malcolm offered to go with her and even drive if needed, but she waved him off and redirected him to the scene knowing he would be of more use there anyway. She didn’t need a babysitter; she needed peace and quiet. He needed the distraction of solving another crime to keep him out of his own head, so this would work best for all involved.

She made it to her apartment only to come to the realization that she was down to one pill and there was a damned good chance this sucker was about to bloom into something that would need a second dose in an hour or two. A quick call to the pharmacist later, and she grabbed her keys to go pick up the new bottle, hoping the one pill would be enough to get there and back again in time to rest and really let it work.

She didn’t remember much after that save for waking in a dank basement of a room that reeked of rot. Her jacket and boots were gone and her hands were wrapped with a significant amount of duct tape in front of her. She didn’t feel the weight of her phone or badge, though she had left her weapon at home because there should have been no need to be armed at a pharmacy. Her head throbbed and she couldn’t take in a deep enough breath to try to steady herself. This was explained by the yet even more duct tape across her lips and she wondered what would suck more, the yanking that off, or the trying to get all the little bits of residue left behind from the tape of off her skin for the next couple of days.

She decided breathing was the most important thing and tried to manipulate her hands up to give the tape a good yank. It took several tries and was as uncomfortable as she had imagined, but she eventually managed the task. The rot seemed that much stronger now that she could literally taste it with each breath, but she fought past that for the time being and tried to focus on her surroundings, the details of what might help versus impede her in getting the hell out of there.

The single light in the room was a bare bulb next to a mostly empty tool bench. There were rusty metal shelves with damp wooden planks propping up hanks of dust and what might have been remnants of cardboard boxes. Her sight was still less than stellar and the bulb burned the retinas of her eyes, and she had the distinct feeling she never got that second dose of her meds and that was not mentioning the additional ache that felt like that time she had gotten pistol whipped four years back.

There were wooden steps that led to a closed doorway that leaked a thin line of light around the lintel. A shadow passed there along with a creak of noise and she deduced that’s where whoever took her currently resided. There was a second door set into the moldy wall across from her, almost hidden in the shadows of one of the shelves. It reminded her of her uncle’s old house with the ancient cellar entrance that led to a short set to steps directly connecting the basement to the outside, but she doubted she would be that lucky.

First things first though. Her ankles were also bound with tape and there were precisely zero sharp objects visible from where she lay. She shifted and scooted and generally tried to make as little of noise as possible to get over to the tool bench where she felt there was the potential of something useful. She knelt up, knees bruising against the hard cement, and spotted more of the damned tape, a wood planer, and an awl amongst a handful of screws and clamps. There was no way to manipulate the awkward size and shape of the planer with her hands as they were, so she grabbed the awl and plopped back down on the floor to set to work on the tape that hobbled her.

She damned near stabbed herself thrice and there was no way the thing would work on her wrists, but she at least shredded the stuff on her ankles enough to pick the worst of it free. There were still chunks of it attached to her jeans, but she was far more mobile now and counted that as a win.

She tucked the awl into her waistband because she wasn’t stupid and it was the closest thing to a weapon she currently had. Above her, the squeak of a chair on linoleum pierced the air and reminded her that she had no idea who or how many awaited her there. She decided to try the door along the wall only for it to make the chair sound like a whisper and to reveal some truly rotten and decrepit steps that she was likely to sprain an ankle or get tetanus from. She couldn’t even see the other door that hopefully led to the outside and feared it had been boarded over years ago.

As expected, the noise called attention to her actions. A man in his mid-forties wrenched open the door at the top of the steps and barreled down towards her in a blur of flannel and dirty denim, heavy boots echoing thuds against the steps. “You little bitch!” he hollered, the voice just barely familiar from a lifetime ago.

With her hands bound and wearing only socks against the filthy floor, her balance was not the best. He slapped her across the face, which knocked her down to land painfully on her right hip. He loomed over her now, giving her a good look as to just who it was with unkempt hair and a day’s growth of reddish-brown beard. Vengeance then, as she had put the asshole away nearly eight years prior, though she was honestly a little shocked he had made early parole.

He still hadn’t noticed the awl, even as he hissed out all the things he was going to do to her, how much she was going to pay for the years of his life he had lost. She figured she could now reasonably say she felt her life was in danger and jabbed the bit of metal and wood upwards into the nearest bit of cloth-covered flesh she could find. The first try shocked more than did any damage, but the second broke skin. He recovered enough to haul back to smack her again, but she avoided most of that to stab at him instead. He reeled back, hand to his gut, and she flipped the tool to thwack the wooden handle against his temple a few times until he fell back, finally losing consciousness.

She knew not to rest on her merits in a situation like this, and grabbed the last of the roll of duct tape to tie his hands together. She did a shit job and she knew it, but it was better than nothing, even if she hadn’t had the leverage to tear off a piece and left the cardboard roll attached.

She then got the hell out of there. She stumbled up the steps and did a quick scan for a pair of scissors or a knife to fully free herself. She still didn’t know if he was alone even if the vengeance route and absence of further attackers supported that thought, and could hear him already beginning to rouse downstairs. She didn’t stick around for retribution, searched a nearby backpack for a nonexistent phone, and headed for what looked like the front door to freedom.

She found herself in a sparsely populated area full of trees and grass that needed to be cut weeks ago. It must have rained while she was out, as her stockinged feet slid slightly on the cold mud and were damp within seconds. There was still a wet chill to the air with the sky the shade of gray that said it wasn’t done pouring yet and she really hoped she got somewhere safe before it decided on another round.

She had absolutely no idea where she actually was, so she picked a direction and tried to stay as true to course as possible. She headed towards the trees for possible cover more than anything else, and hoped for the best. Twigs snapped under her socks, sharp points poking through the fabric and dragging dead leaves and other detritus along with every step. It was going to be damned hard to stay completely quiet if that kept up, but she heard a faint rumbling that could be either a road or a river very slightly to the left and decided to edge closer to the white noise.

There was the flash of something and her heart sped up for a moment out of irrational fear that it was the reflection of the dull, cloud-covered sun off of a weapon. She wasn’t sure how far or how long she had trudged at that point, but reasoned she had kept relatively straight and there was little chance her captor, if he had even become he pursuer, had circled around that much to get in front of her.

Another rumble and another flash. Headlights against the gray. Which meant cars. Which meant potential help.

She sped up, but kept crouched as much as she could close to the ground to avoid detection in case it was a trap or in case salvation held more trouble than it was worth. If nothing else, she could follow the road as far as she could from the edge of the treeline, find a sign, and figure it out from there.

She watched as an old pickup truck rattled by, and then a school bus nearly five whole minutes later. Still not a popular area then, though the bus helped tell her what time in the afternoon it might be if the kids were headed home. She debated following the bus but figured schools were more likely to be in a busier area than individual homes, and reversed that path instead.

A black SUV sped by some time later and she had to remind herself that not every black SUV out there was police-related. Her head hurt, her feet hurt, she was cold, and she we definitely getting a little more than a little hungry. Concentration took more effort than it really should, and that wasn’t even including the whole trying to keep her balance while her hands were still stuck together with tape. She skidded slightly and managed to right herself with the help of a tree branch and couldn’t help but to debate using the damned thing to try to saw herself free.

But then yet another flash caught her eye. She blinked, not trusting herself, but the road curved just so into an almost switchback and she could alternately see the side and front of the car that now approached: a black Le Mans. There was no way she was this lucky, and she knew it. But the fact that there was a black Le Mans with three black SUVs trailing behind it about to pass her made her both question her sanity and decide to throw caution to the wind enough to try.

She stepped out to be more visible from her hiding place and tried to wave down one of the cars. It passed her, but the one behind screeched to a halt, followed shortly by the one behind that doing the same and the ones that had passed whipping around in the other direction. She didn’t cry to see something roughly JT-shaped step out of one of the cars now closest to her, but it was a damned near thing.

The JT shape wiped a hand over his mouth and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a drawn out “Holy shit.” She was more focused on the gray blue that raced out of the Le Mans that called, “Dani? Is that you?”

She tried to say yes, but her voice came out as not much more than a dry croak. She nodded instead, knots of curls falling into her eyes. She had already learned not to try to push them back as tape and hair were truly a horrible combination.

“Powell?” a new voice confirmed. Arroyo. Gil. Who else would be driving the damned Le Mans. “Are you okay?”

She swallowed a few times and managed an admittedly weak, “Head is still killing me.”

He laughed in disbelief and started towards the metal barrier that marked the edge of the road. She decided she could meet him halfway and took a whopping six staggering steps before her feet found the incline into the ditch that lined the roadside. It was wet, it was cold, and it was damn embarrassing in front of the others. The stagnant water there was barely to her knees and she had managed not to lose her balance enough to splash completely in the damn thing, so she righted herself with some profanity and tried again.

Bright of course hopped the barrier and was willing to wade right on in with her. “You’ll ruin you suit,” she chided.

“Worth it,” he insisted with a roll of his eyes. Gil grabbed his arm though so that he didn’t repeat her performance and so that he had actual leverage to help her, and he reached as far as he could to get her back up the incline. She knew the exact moment that both men saw the state of her hands as she was greeted with matching pressed lips and narrowed eyes and general expressions of the extremely pissed off.

JT had no qualms about getting his work boots dirty and jumped over the barrier to boost her the final steps when she started to slip again. He then boosted her further, up and over the divide, and offered to do the same for Malcolm if needed. Once she was safely on solid ground, he pulled out his ever-present multi-tool and sliced right through the tape.

“Could have used one of those an hour or so ago,” she said through chattering teeth. She winced when the stickiness was fully removed, taking the fine hairs along her wrists with it, then immediately tried to flex them to try to regain full feeling again.

JT looked down at the remnants stuck to the cuffs of her jeans, now liberally covered with mud and muck, and said, “Looks like you did damn fine on your own.”

She offered him the awl she still had and he looked at it with raised eyebrows before he let one of the uniformed cops with him place it in an evidence bag. 

“Is that blood?” Malcolm asked because of course he would notice that mixed in with everything else.

“Pretty sure I didn’t nick myself, but I got the bad guy,” she promised. She shivered again, and he immediately took off his overcoat to drape around her, ignoring the potential dry cleaning bill. “Shannon Senske, was still alive when I left him, would have just got paroled and apparently really doesn’t like me for putting him away,” she rattled off, needing to get at least that out. 

One of the cops offered her his own piping hot thermos of coffee, but she declined. Caffeine might help with the headache on one front, but it would also dehydrate her even further, which would ratchet it up another notch on another. She also really didn’t want to hurl in front of them and her stomach was pretty much nothing but acid that would be further aggravated by the bitter drink. She opened her mouth to try to give a rough idea as to where she had been held, but was cut off by Arroyo when he said, “We were headed to his last known address now. You didn’t answer your texts or calls when we tried to check in on how you were doing, your car was home but you weren’t, and he was caught on camera shoving you into a truck in your own alleyway.”

“How in the world are you still standing, ma’am?” a rookie cop asked with something akin to awe.

“Because she’s more badass than you,” JT supplied easily enough. Then, with a considering tilt of his head, he added, “She’s more badass than all of us but, seriously Powell, I think those socks are more blood and mud than fabric right now.”

Him pointing it out meant that she started to feel it through the numbness of her toes. Also, just how exhausted she truly was. She didn’t realize how much she listed to to side until Bright caught her, arm wrapped around her shoulder for support. He brushed her curls back with his hand, right where her head hurt the worst, and looked truly concerned when he said, “You are freezing, as in possibly hypothermic. And the head wound isn’t helping matters.”

That at least explained the pain beyond the simple migraine, not that migraines were ever simple in and of themselves. Arroyo started barking orders and she got the gist that he would drive her back to town himself and the others were to go gather Senske and figure out just what else he might have up his ragged flannel sleeves. JT volunteered for the takedown and it warmed her a little inside to know he’d get the bastard for her. She did feel the need to share, “Taped him up in the basement when I left, but he was already trying to get out. Oh, and I stabbed him a few times.”

“Of course you did,” Gil huffed. “Now get your ass in the car so we can get you warmed up?”

She made it over there mostly on her own, if she didn’t count the way Bright refused to let go of her. Adrenaline was fading, flight or fight response no longer driving her now that she knew she was relatively safe. Each step was getting more and more difficult, even as her shivering began to decrease instead of increase. Part of her knew that wasn’t a good thing, and it was that part that didn’t protest when Gil and Malcolm insisted on getting her out of at least some of her damp clothing. 

She would have been embarrassed, but JT had the rest of the cops with him and the worst they saw was her boss yanking off her ruined socks with a towel from his gym bag to dry her feet at the ready. All in all, her soaked jeans were peeled off by Bright to be replaced with oversized sweatpants that fell off of her even when they were tied as tight as possible. Gil sacrificed a pair of his clean socks for her as well, even if they were soon dotted with red. She shivered again though, even with the warmer, drier clothing, and even under Bright’s jacket. The bottle of Gatorade shoved at her really wasn’t helping matters beyond making her throat a tiny bit less dry. Electrolytes were good after the day she had, but some warm herbal tea to sooth her throat would have felt wonderful in comparison.

Arroyo had an emergency blanket in his trunk, and she found herself wrapped in both that and in Malcolm’s arms in the back seat of the Le Mans as it headed away from the scene of the almost crime and back towards the city proper. Bright gave up all pretenses of being professional and buried his chin in her damp and disgusting curls, one arm secure around her and the other lightly rubbing up and down her back and side. He somehow avoided her truly bruised hip, and she couldn’t tell if he had seen it when she changed or if it was yet another part of that innate sense of his. She was a ball of bruises and muck, and he avoided the one and ignored the other, the blanket doing little to keep him or the seats clean.

“I’m gross, don’t do that,” she protested around a yawn.

“Have to get you warm,” he insisted. She swore she felt his lips instead of his chin and glanced up nervously to spot an amused glance from Gil via the rearview mirror. Less shock than acceptance of his team. “Also have to keep you awake,” he insisted, blind to the potential drama he may be causing as per usual.

She heard Gil crank up the music as well as the heat, and knew there was a fair chance she would lose this particular battle, no matter how much she wanted to just pass out already. “Turn it down, please?” she requested. “Your taste in music is not helping my headache.”

“It’s classic,” Arroyo insisted, though the fact she could hear him meant he had lowered it at least slightly. “You going to stay with us? We’re about ten minutes out.”

“Trying,” she promised.

“Tell me about who took you, anything you remember,” Bright directed. His hands hadn’t stopped moving yet, serving as a distraction as much as a source of warmth.

She knew it was an attempt to keep her talking, to keep her slightly coherent, but she teased, “You going to try to profile him off of your concussed partner’s memory?”

“Sure, why not?” he replied easily enough. The careful extra squeeze he gave her told her she was more than a work partner and she tried not to lean into it any more than she already was.

She told him what she remembered, from the moment she woke up to the moment she got the hell out of the house. He asked her questions, prompted her, generally kept her engaged, and she didn’t know whether she liked him or hated him for it. He did ask why she didn’t go for whatever car Senske must have used and, instead of admitting it really didn’t cross her mind, she evaded with, “No idea where the keys were, wasn’t going to stick around to ask him, and wouldn’t have been able to steer that well anyway.”

He hummed, considering. “And no knife?”

“Honestly, I didn’t see one and figured I’d waste time looking for it, and that’s if I didn’t slice the hell out of myself trying to use it,” she mumbled. Words were getting harder and her sight was getting spottier. Gil paused the car and she was disappointed to realize it was for a red light versus them actually arriving at their destination.

“What do you want to do when you’re cleared?” Bright asked, keeping up the conversation. “Any food you want, it’s on me.”

“I want a hamburger and a shake the size of my face, no, wait, warm, um, a hot chocolate?” she replied. There was a place he had taken her to before with the good stuff. She knew asking for it now, even in vague terms, meant he’d probably figure out a way to get it for her. “And like a four hour hot bath,” she added at the end even though she knew that’d be damn near impossible to achieve.

“I’ll wash your hair myself,” he whispered, voice a breath against her ear. “We can use that lavender stuff you like so much.”

“You got a big soaking tub I can borrow?” she asked. She ignored Gil clearing his throat as warning that he heard her. There was fraternizing and then there was _fraternizing_ , and she was too damn tired to draw the line between the two.

“My mother’s house does, and I’m sure she’s willing to share for a good cause,” Bright answered anyway. Then, to show he could read the room, or at least the car, he tacked on, “I think that one is big enough for JT to soak, maybe even Burke.”

“Don’t want a bath with JT or Burke,” she pointed out, this time ignoring Arroyo’s chuckle instead.

Another breath against her ear, and she heard, “I would certainly hope not.”

It was all for naught and they both knew it. As a surprise to no one, she was required to stay overnight for observation due to the head wound and was granted not much more than a sponge bath. On the up side, this meant she got some decent pain killers and, on the even better side, she got to be wrapped in warming blankets for pretty much her entire duration there. Her feet were checked for frostbite and the tiny scrapes cleaned and bandaged, and the wound on her temple was also scrubbed clean, though decidedly with something far more antiseptic-smelling than lavender. It didn’t need stitches, and she considered that a win.

Bright stayed by her side the entire night, and even managed to get her a burger for dinner and a hot chocolate with her really bland, hospital-approved breakfast the next morning. JT stopped by long enough to tell her about the truncated chase that brought Senske down, and to assure her that kidnapping a police officer definitely counted as a violation of the terms of his parole. Gil took her statement himself claiming it would save time anyway, and to assure her they already had eyes on the murderer from the preceding morning, even regaling her with who they suspected. He left with an order of one week mandatory downtime, an assurance to Bright that his own time off had been approved, and muttered comment that sounded suspiciously like, “So help me if you come back smelling like lavender...” that made her blush.

She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to get home without her car, but it turned out to be a non-issue. Mrs. Whitly’s driver waited for them both upon her discharge from the hospital and yet she was still surprised that he took her to the gigantic mansion of a house versus her tiny little apartment.

“I promised you a bath,” Malcolm non-explained as he led her to a guest room about the size of her entire place. Sure enough, there was a soaking tub, with bottles of bath salts and the awesome shampoo already set to the side. There was also a fluffy robe, flannel pajamas, and about twenty blankets piled atop the bed waiting for her. Her core temp had returned to normal, but she still could not shake the feeling of being cold quite yet.

“Okay, I like your version of kidnapping far better than the other one,” she commented as she slid into the steaming water.

He looked up nervously from where he had loosened his tie and stuttered, “I’m sorry! I mean, of course you’d want autonomy and I took that from you and I can totally take you home to your place if you want? I shouldn’t have presumed, but I did, and...”

“Bright?” she cut him off easily enough. She didn’t even bother to sit up from where she had slouched beneath the bubbles and whatever else he had added to the bath. “Get your ass in here and wash my hair.”

The tie was tossed to the wayside and the suit was soon to follow. She shifted only enough for him to slide in behind her, the tub more than big enough for them both. He kissed her cheek, and then her temple right below the sizable bruise and she sighed contentedly as she relaxed back against him. He continued to whisper all sorts of nonsense to her, his hands in constant motion as the combed through her hair and she felt the last of the tension her body held begin to fade away.

The day before might have sucked, but the new day was looking far better already. And not just because she had spotted a menu from her favorite takeout place atop the mound of pillows in the other room. She did something she usually found damned near impossible to do, and sat back to let someone else take care of her. She could reason she was helping him in the process or she could suck it up and just enjoy it. As her eyes drifted shut of their own accord, she knew the decision was already made.


End file.
